Mother and Child Reunion

It dawns on me that I haven’t posted about last week’s trip to Connecticut to see The Boy. Despite the fact we were both sick at one point or another during our seven short days together, I can still truthfully say it was wonderful. Nothing like projectile puke at 4 a.m. and a day long bout of diarrhea to test the staying power of romance. 

Happily, we passed. (Get it? Heh.)

So, I come home and MP is 25. Suddenly she’s all Sheldon-y. All Big Bang Theory. All “Mother, did you know that an isotope is a nucleus whose chemical properties are almost identical to the original one having the same number of protons but different number of neutrons?”

Umyeahwha?

Grammy’s the same. Perhaps a little tired is all.

The dog’s the same. Happier than ever to rub her filthy self all over the carpet. Happy to lick my feet with her poo mouth. Perhaps shaggier and with more knots. But still, the same.

I, on the other hand, am clearly dumber. Evidently, a few brain cells went missing when I contracted the Dengue Fever because I swear my daughter has aged dramatically overnight. Suddenly she’s READING. Complete BOOKS. Go, Dog Go!

GO, DOG GO!

The Preschool equivalent to War and Peace.

*sigh*

I leave for a week and my Baby, she’s all grown up. Next time, we’re packin’ up those footie PJs and she’s coming with me.

What? Exploding Laundry?

I’ve been a very bad blogger. Between The Boy’s visit, Swap Mamas — which I’m OBSESSED with, btw — my town literally EXPLODING, and MP’s 5th birthday … sadly, the old blog has gotten the short end of the stick.

I figure the best way to catch up is a laundry list. Which brings me to:

1. The Boy. The yummy, lovely Boy. He folded my laundry. He fixed BOTH my toilets. He fixed Grammy’s sad front door, which has been held shut by an old screwdriver the past few weeks.

Doogs. He GAVE THE DOG A BATH.

Oh yeah. He played with MP. Willingly played with dolls.

The Boy even taught her a new game. Mardi Gras House.

Wait. Isn’t that a reality show?

Although admittedly, both of us were perfectly content to stay home and hang out, we DID take a few nights to ourselves.

Remember the pharmacist Grammy was dead set on fixing me up with? We ran into him at one of downtown’s popular pubs. (We all went to high school together, the pharmacist was a class ahead. Small town. Yadda yadda.) He parked himself at our table for a good 45 minutes and DIDN’T. SHUT. UP. He talked SO much, he didn’t even notice when The Boy smiled and texted me the following:

GUYS REALLY DO ONLY TALK ABOUT THEMSELVES!

Later, at another bar, sitting side by side, *I* didn’t even notice when The Boy texted me.

WANNA KISS?

*sigh*

Seven days of The Boy, and not once was I ready for him to go home. Given the fact I’ve lived alone for nearly 15 years, trust me, this is no minor detail. When he left, I cried.

And now, in a complete change of direction, it’s looking like The Boy will be back this summer.

For good.

Unbelievably, he’s decided to pack up and move back home. Granted, there are some pretty major things that need to be worked out before the moving truck arrives, but it feels RIGHT. It feels good. It feels like it’s meant to be.

Oy. I’ve blathered on and on, and now it’s 1:30 in the morning. Mommypie’s gotta catch some zzzzzs — falling asleep at my desk every day is becoming a dangerous habit. The laundry list, like the laundry pile parked on my couch, will have to wait ’til tomorrow.

In bed at one thirty? THAT’s discipline, People.

Hostess with the Mostess I am not.

So, a few weeks ago, I thought I’d try something completely new and organize a real-time, online swap meet on Swap Mamas. It was scheduled for this past Saturday. However, I’ve spent every spare minute each night on the phone with The Boy, and Saturday night was no different. While the two of us talked, I tried to log into the Swap Mama’s Chat Room. And couldn’t get in. Because my computer sucks donkey dookie lately. Some hostess, eh?

The Boy took over for me, entered the Chat Room from his end of the country and struck up a conversation with two of my favorite bloggers, Auds at Barking Mad, and Mrs. Waltz from Waltz in Exile.

While I wish I still had the chat on record, it seems large chunks of it magically disappeared hours later. And never having actually SEEN it myself, my only account is second-hand. I’d love to hear Auds and Waltz’s version (Hear that Doogs? Blog Fodder!). From what I could make out, while I was drowning my frustration in Bud Light, the threeway went something like this.

• Not knowing The Boy’s true identity, Auds and Waltz begin to size him up.

• Auds and Waltz become increasingly suspicious, and ask if The Boy has a blog.

• They ask if he even has kids.

• They wonder out loud if The Boy is trolling.

• The Boy tells them he’s on the phone with me and that I’m trying to get online.

• A&W warm up to The Boy, figuring he must not be TOO creepy.

• Ten minutes of conversation pass. A lightbulb goes off. “They’re figuring it out! They’re figuring it out!” The Boy says.

And suddenly, my online life and my real life collide. The Boy is laughing. I am laughing. I’m pretty sure Auds and Waltz are laughing.

We’re totally busted.

And the next day? The Boy and I did what any couple mad for one another in 2009 does. We changed our Facebook profiles from “Single” to “In a Relationship.”

Yup. It’s official.

It’s raining men. And I want to crawl under my desk.

I don’t know WHAT the hell’s goin’ on but the past few weeks there’s been a run on fix-ups in Pie Town. Apparently, someone designated it Mommypie Needs A Date month.

Which has led me to declare it Mommypie Is A Stress Case month.

Because Mommypie doesn’t really WANT a date. At least not at this juncture. And you better believe that KILLS my mother.

The first guy is a local attorney, 10 years my senior. I’ve met him a few times before at work functions. Nice enough. He ran for a judge seat last year, and lost. His chosen political party is … not mine. And being older and pickier (meaning that “they like me” is no longer a good enough reason to date someone), all the above could easily be enough to rule him out.

But ACW (Another Co-Worker) mentioned she saw a large tattoo on his lower leg at our recent golf tourney, so, I agreed to meet him for lunch Tuesday. Or Wednesday. I can’t remember, but I wrote it down. And I’m DREADING it. Because, while I don’t want to rule anything out, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time either. I’m going to try to go into it with an open mind. It’s just lunch right? RIGHT??

The other guy is a baseball scout, also about 10 years older than me. Definitely scoring higher on the cool job scale, if that counts for anything. He doesn’t live in this state, but travels here frequently. I have NO idea what he looks like. He’s sent two emails. I sent one, somewhat terse, “nice to meet you” email. He wants to get together later this month when he’s in town. I haven’t answered.

Argh. I AM totally grateful for such wonderful friends who care so much about my happiness. I find it funny that in this case, the two doing the setting up were two GUYS. And I know I’m a little unconventional. But I love the life MP and I have. Just the two of us.

And now, I want to hide. I want to crawl under my desk and hide. Which I’ve actually done on more than one occasion. Just out of college, I was working two jobs to make ends meet — a 9 to 5 job all day while waiting tables all night. I was exhausted. For awhile there, I’d actually crawl under my desk, lie down and sleep when my bosses were at lunch. I kept a pillow in my office and everything. Okay, a seat cushion, but still. Remember the Seinfeld episode where George slept under his desk at work? That was totally me.

Which sounds so much better than a lunch date small talk torture session. Hep me Rhonda.